


Reciprocity By Proxy

by chronicopheliac



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM, Bar, Bondage, Canon Divergence, Consent Negotiation, Developing Relationship, F/M, Flogging, Frottage, Hand Job, Jealous Will, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Possessive Will, Pre-Relationship, Restraint, Rubbing, Season 2, Sex Club, Sexual Tension, Submissive Hannibal, Unresolved Sexual Tension, dominant will, feelings are hard, over-stimulation, sex by proxy, sexy touching, stimulation after orgasm, strip club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6082080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicopheliac/pseuds/chronicopheliac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will likes to push Hannibal's buttons, because he can. After Hannibal had sent Randall Tier after Will, they had called it even - no more need for murder-by-proxy. But Will is curious to see where else he can push Hannibal, how else he can wind him up and watch him go. He tries a different sort of proxy, using another person to accomplish something he's not sure he can himself. Will Hannibal push back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is only mildly beta'd, because my beta is sick. :( But I hope you all enjoy it! Kudos and comments are very welcome and appreciated! I was planning only two chapters, originally, but I think it might end up being at least one more depending on how it comes out, so I'm leaving the chapter count as a question mark for now. The first chapter isn't particularly explicit, but it only goes up from here!
> 
> I don't do much other than reblog stuff on tumblr, mostly Hannibal-related, but if you want to follow me, I'm [chronicopheliac](http://chronicopheliac.tumblr.com) on there too.

_ I’d say this makes us even. I send someone to kill you, you send someone to kill me. Even Steven. _

Hannibal had wondered what, if anything, Will would do next. Should he expect another Matthew Brown? He had said they were even, but Will had also admitted to still having fantasies of killing him. He knew Will would not likely act on his own, not yet. Though it seems that Jack has cast aside his doubts about Will, it would be too risky to do anything that might make Jack doubt him again. Thinking about the possibilities sends a thrill through Hannibal’s body, and he allows a hint of a smile.

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts, and he glances at the clock. Right on time, as usual. He runs a hand down his chest to smooth his tie - maroon, to complement his eyes, with a navy triangle pattern, to match the navy pinstripe suit he is sporting this evening. He stands from his desk and walks over to the door, his smile twitching just a bit wider as he opens it to meet Will’s lopsided smirk. Hannibal is simultaneously pleased and concerned to see that Will is keeping up with his recent interest in presenting a more clean-cut image, wearing a light blue dress shirt (no tie, of course, and the top button is infuriatingly - tantalizingly - undone) and charcoal slacks.

“Come in, Will.” Hannibal does his best not to look at Will like a parched man looking at a glass of water, which is easier when Will averts his eyes to look at his shoes.

“I was actually, uh, wondering,” Will says, looking back up at Hannibal with his eyebrows arched up, eyes wide and beseeching. “How about a change of pace, this evening? I thought we could go for a drink.”

“Another foray into unconventional therapy practices? I do have drinks other than wine in my office.” He walks back over to his chair to get his suit jacket anyway, putting it on. Clearly, Will has something in mind for the evening, and Hannibal is nearly giddy with curiosity. Not that he lets that show, of course.

Will chuckles. “Something like that, I guess. I’m feeling a bit… stifled. I want to be somewhere unfamiliar.”

Hannibal shuts the lights off and just barely grazes the small of Will’s back as he urges him aside so he can shut and lock the door. Will clears his throat, taking a few steps back, and Hannibal’s mind supplies a number of reasons for the apparent avoidance, none of which are satisfactory. Choosing to ignore it for the moment, Hannibal pockets his keys, and they walk out of the office.

“There is a certain comfort in the unfamiliar. A freedom in not being defined by your surroundings.”

“I’ve been trapped in the same places a little too long. I’ll drive.”

They get into Will’s car, and Hannibal immediately switches the radio to a classical station. Will rolls his eyes pointedly, but says nothing.

“And where are we going to have this drink?” Hannibal adjusts his seat, first the angle of the back, then shifts the positioning back to better accommodate his legs. Will snorts, flicking Hannibal’s knee as though to stop his fidgeting about.

“A place that Beverly kept inviting me out to. Never ended up taking her up on it.” Will can’t help saying it through clenched teeth, as Beverly is still a topic they generally don’t broach, but his tone is still light and even. Hannibal hums an acknowledgement, and the rest of the drive is mostly silent, save for a few remarks from Will to stop fiddling with the climate control.

They arrive at the bar, which isn’t exactly a dive, but it can’t be described as respectable, either. The sign is large and neon, with a rather rotund cartoon bull on its back drinking from what is presumably a bottle of alcohol, and the name flashes in alternating greens and yellows - “The Boozy Bull”. Hannibal groans and looks at Will, who grins and gets out of the car with a bounce in his step.

“This does look like the sort of establishment Beverly would enjoy,” says Hannibal, opting to leave his suit jacket in the car. It’s bad enough that the rest of him will smell like the bar within minutes, no need to ruin the jacket, too.

Will claps him on the shoulder amicably, leaving his arm draped around Hannibal’s neck and tugging him off balance. Hannibal barely registers Will’s reply as the touch sears through the fabric of their clothing. It’s irritating, the sudden heat Hannibal feels in his chest and abdomen, and he tamps it down as he extricates himself from Will with as much casual grace as he can muster.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

The interior manages to be worse than Hannibal expected. The same bull mascot is featured in neon at the center of the back wall, animated so that the bottle is moving to and from its mouth, and there is a corkboard with the word ‘WINNERS!’ displayed above a series of photographs of people who have apparently eaten a very large, multi-patty burger in less than six minutes. The general decor is the very definition of kitsch, with replicas of famous paintings with the subjects replaced by modern celebrities. In between the paintings are various bits of sports and film memorabilia - baseballs, jerseys, costume pieces, and a few of those plastic mounted singing fish. Off to the right, there is a dance floor, and a little further off - a mechanical bull.

Hannibal closes his eyes and takes a calming breath, focusing on the smell of Will’s consistently horrible aftershave, allowing it to overtake the other odors assaulting his senses. Will had asked him to come, and though he can’t yet figure out what he’s playing at, he refuses to allow his sensibilities to be bested by this ‘bar’ that Will has dragged him to. He can’t read Will’s intentions at all, which is enchanting enough that it’s easier to steel himself for whatever the evening will bring.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Will staring at him, a dark intensity to his gaze that is quickly arranged back to mirth when he notices Hannibal has turned his attention back to him. Will grins and shoves his hands into his pockets, stepping toward the bar and finding a spot with a few empty stools so that they don’t have to sit too close to anyone. Hannibal follows and sits beside him, opening his mouth to order when the bartender approaches, but Will interrupts.

“A pitcher of the cheapest beer you’ve got on tap, and two shots of tequila, please.”

The bartender pours the shots and drops a bowl of lemons and a salt shaker next to the glasses before going to fill the pitcher.

“Will.”

“Yes, Doctor Lecter?” Will has that infuriatingly innocent expression again, with the eyebrows and the eyes and the slightly upturned mouth, and Hannibal just about loses it right then. The only thing that keeps him in check is the fact that the evening promises to be incredibly  _ interesting _ , whatever direction it may go, and he really wants to know what Will has planned.

“Is this to be part of your therapy as well? Making me endure the worst swill this charming place has to offer?”

The bartender returns with the pitcher and sets it down with two glasses, leaving again to serve a group of women that had just arrived. Will sets to pouring them each some beer, then hands Hannibal one of the shots, taking up his own with a saluting gesture. Hannibal complies with a sigh, and they throw back the shots together, though Hannibal foregoes the lemon and salt. They both grimace at the flavour, and before either can think better of it, use the beer to chase it down.

Will chokes on a laugh through his beer, spilling a little down the side of his mouth. Hannibal rolls his eyes and reaches forward to wipe it away, realizing his own intentions too late to stop himself from doing so. They both look away, Hannibal clearing his throat and awkwardly drying his hand on a napkin. He takes a sip of the beer to keep himself from analyzing his own actions too closely.

“Actually, I thought this would be more therapeutic for you, having to rub elbows with us swine,” Will takes a sip of his beer. “Or cattle might be more appropriate a term,” he gestures at the sign.

Hannibal snorts at that, but drinks more of his beer as well, taking a moment to peruse the growing crowd. It hadn’t been that busy when they arrived, but now most of the booths and tables are full, as well as the benches around the mechanical bull, which is currently being used by a particularly shrieky middle-aged woman.

The stools next to them that had previously been empty are now occupied by a group of women, a bachelorette party judging by the flashy tiara and pink sash worn by one of them. They all have beaded necklaces with little plastic penises hanging on them, and the bride-to-be also sports a flashing, penis-shaped pin on the strap of her dress. One of the women begins laughing and leans back, bumping against Will who once again spills a bit of his beer, on the floor this time.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, unable to stifle her giggling. “I’m soooo sorry! I guess I got a little excited!” The other women all whoop in agreement, lifting their drinks into the air.

“No harm done,” Will smiles politely. “Besides, you’re all entitled to get a little carried away if it’s a bachelorette party.”

They all cheer and raise their glasses again, all of them finishing off their drinks to head toward the dance floor.

Eventually, Will orders them another pitcher and another shot of tequila, pushing it towards Hannibal insistently.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Will?”

“I’m trying to get you to lose a little of that carefully maintained self-control,” Will’s smirk is twisted by another grimace as he downs the tequila, not going for the salt or lemons this time. He slams the glass down enthusiastically, and stands, holding his hand out to stop Hannibal from doing the same. “We’re not leaving, yet. I’ll be right back.”

Hannibal doesn’t get a chance to protest before Will is off, disappearing into the mass of bodies writhing around on the dance floor. After a few minutes, Will is back, with the woman that had bumped into him. She has a flush and a sheen of sweat from dancing, and looks from Will to Hannibal with what Hannibal can only interpret as anticipation. She flicks out her tongue over her lower lip and tugs on the hem of her short dress, taking a step toward Hannibal.

“Will,” Hannibal begins, though by the look on Will’s face, he doesn’t expect any question he might ask will get an answer.

“This is Samantha. Samantha, this is Hannibal.” Will’s eyes are practically sparkling in the neon glow of the bar, and Hannibal is struck speechless, breathless, with the devious grin that spreads across Will’s face. Will leans in to whisper something in Samantha’s ear, and she laughs and nods, stepping closer to Hannibal.

“Will’s asked me to do something for him,” she says, running one hand along the outside of Hannibal’s left thigh.

Hannibal carefully composes himself to look completely unmoved, setting his beer down and looking directly at Will when he replies.

“Has he?” He shifts back so that he can lean both elbows on the bar, watching Will curiously, the very image of relaxation.

Will steps forward to crowd behind Samantha without touching her, meeting Hannibal’s gaze.

“I want you to try sucking on his earlobe.”

Samantha leans forward, resting both hands on his thighs, and flicks her tongue out to trace the edge of Hannibal’s ear before gently sucking the lobe into her mouth, but Hannibal doesn’t flinch. His eyebrow edges up questioningly, but Will only looks at him as he continues to instruct Samantha.

“Nibble on it, bite it - you won’t hurt him.”

Samantha giggles softly and does as instructed, her teeth grazing, at first, then increasing the pressure until Hannibal’s hands go up to her arms to push her back. She doesn’t go far, however, since Will is still there behind her, pressing forward to send her stumbling forward again, between Hannibal’s legs. Hannibal’s upper lip twitches just barely, and the heat that had begun outside the bar returns, just a little, in the pit of his stomach. Will looks… curious. Interested.

“Get your hand under his shirt and scratch his back, hard. Use your other hand to touch his cock.”

Samantha looks back at Will with a wink, then leans forward to run her hand up and down Hannibal’s back. She tugs at the fabric at his waist to untuck his shirt and drags her nails along his spine, arching to nibble at his jaw. She lightly ghosts her fingers across Hannibal’s thigh with her other hand, touching lightly, teasingly, at the bulge in his pants before grasping it firmly, using her hips to increase the pressure between them.

Hannibal’s lip twitches again, baring teeth, and he’s staring at Will, trying to figure out what the hell he’s trying to accomplish. Does he mean to enrage him? Arouse him? Will’s expression is rapt, his eyes flicking down to watch Samantha’s hands, Hannibal’s mouth, as though gauging every reaction. What is he trying to see?

It feels like an eternity, staring at Will, feeling the friction of a warm body against him, that Will directed. Hannibal is rooted to the spot by the weight of Will’s gaze, trying desperately to glean something from any detail, and he doesn’t realize right away that he’s panting, his cock hard and straining against his trousers. The heat and motion of Samantha against him has managed to work him quite close to the edge, and one of his hands flies up to wrap around her back, to press her closer against him.

Will’s jaw clenches, and the sparkle in his eyes recedes as he seems to take a deep breath, slowly. 

“Stop.”

That’s interesting.

Samantha pulls back abruptly, her lips swollen from sucking and nibbling along Hannibal’s neck and throat, her dress slightly askew.

“Aww, I was hoping to get a little more fun than that,” she pouts, straightening herself out.

Will flashes a charming smile. “Sorry, that’s all for tonight. Thanks for indulging us.”

“Oh, any time, sweetie. You think we got your boyfriend riled up enough?”

They both look at Hannibal, who looks completely wrecked. His hair is slightly mussed, falling across his forehead, his tie is crumpled and tugged out of his vest, his shirt half untucked - Will can’t stop himself from laughing, and it’s such a delightful sort of laugh that Hannibal nearly forgets to be annoyed.

“I think we did a fantastic job, yeah. Thanks again, Samantha. How about you and your friends have the next round on me?” He flags down the waiter and pulls out some bills, dropping them on the bar.

Samantha gives Will a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the rear in thanks. “It was nice to meet you both. Hope you get a happy ending, Hannibal!”

Hannibal is only able to nod, standing and trying to set himself to rights with a series of exaggerated gestures, which gets Will chuckling again.

When they’re back in the car, Will is laughing at the awkward way Hannibal had to get in, with his persistent erection making things rather difficult. Hannibal tries to maintain as much dignity as possible when he buckles himself in and adjusts the position of his legs to be less… oppressive. Thankfully, his erection begins to subside as they drive away.

“Boyfriend?” Hannibal schools his expression into the most neutral arrangement possible.

Will shrugs, grinning. “I thought it’d be less weird if I asked her to arouse my boyfriend than my psychopathic therapist.”

“Of course. I can see how that might make for a better proposal,” Hannibal’s voice is not as controlled as his countenance, rougher than he intends. “And which one of us is supposed to have benefited from this particular performance?”

Will doesn’t answer right away, humming thoughtfully.

“I was curious.”

“If I could be aroused?”

“That was part of it, yeah.”

“And the other part?” Hannibal hopes he doesn’t sound  _ too _ curious,  _ too  _ eager for the answer.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

All Hannibal can think when he arrives at home is how to get Will back. All of his potential courses of action require him to step rather outside of his comfort zone. But if he can get Will to look that way at him again, with that bewitched sort of expression… well, that’s worth just about anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal does, in fact, push back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to get this out a little sooner, but I've done like, NO writing at all this week 'cause I've been sick. :( Finally feeling well enough to continue, though, so hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter out sooner.
> 
> This is unbeta'd, only marginally edited, as the one who would normally be my beta isn't very available these days. I am actively seeking someone who is willing to be a beta, actually, so if anyone is interested, please let me know!

Hannibal takes his time thinking of a suitable way to repay Will’s _alternative therapy_ adventure. So, it is a couple of weeks before he retaliates, so to speak, with a surprise outing of his own. Will arrives at the office at his usual time, only to find the lights off and Hannibal waiting at the door. They hadn’t spoken of the evening at the ‘Boozy Bull’ since it had happened. In fact, they had carefully avoided any and all topics remotely related to that night, instead to speaking of murder and blood and elegance.

“Did I miss something? Is our appointment cancelled tonight?” Will only looks marginally surprised.

Hannibal shakes his head and moves forward, reaching an arm out to turn Will around and guide him to the driveway where Hannibal’s car is parked. Curiously, Hannibal notes, touching Will doesn’t seem to have the same effect as when Will touches him. What he would give to speak to Bedelia now, she always had some insight into such things. For the moment, he chooses not to analyze anything too closely.

“Not at all. After some thought, I’ve decided that there may be some merit to your idea to get out of the office, once in a while. I believe there is much we can learn from the… unfamiliar, as you call it,” he gives Will a mysterious smile. “This time, I will drive.”

He opens the passenger side door for Will, then goes around to get into the car himself. Will seems tense, at first, his eyebrows knitting up as his shoulders hunch up in apprehension. The moment passes quickly, however, with an exhale and Will’s body relaxes, apparently having made a decision. He looks over at Hannibal with a mischievous glint in his eye, and begins adjusting his seat as obnoxiously as he can manage. Hannibal’s jaw tenses, but he chooses not to comment on the obvious attempt to irritate him. It’s not as though it’s particularly odd that he would adjust the seat - what were the chair controls there for, after all, if not for one’s comfort?

“Have you had a breakthrough, Doctor Lecter?” Will teases.

“Not yet, but I believe it is possible, with some effort,” Hannibal’s mouth quirks up slightly as he pulls onto the road. “After all, anything worth doing is not usually easy.”

“You make just about anything look easy, anyway,” Will mutters, switching the radio station to something alarmingly twangy. Bluegrass? Hannibal tightens his grip on the wheel and reminds himself of his goals for the evening.

“You know that the appearance of effortlessness does take quite a bit of work, and practice.”

“Yeah, all the world’s a stage and you’re the star.”

Hannibal glances at Will disapprovingly. “We are all of us performing in life, Will. You know better than anyone how carefully people cultivate what they show to the world.”

“Some more than others,” Will retorts, stiffly. He crosses his arms, and frowns into the middle distance. 

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“You will see,” Hannibal smiles lightly. “Patience, Will. You surprised me, let me surprise you.”

It doesn’t take them long to reach their destination. As the sign comes into view, Will looks over at Hannibal incredulously.

“A strip club.”

“Yes,” Hannibal replies, casually. He parks, and gets out to open the passenger door for Will, who gets out still looking at him as though he can glean Hannibal’s intentions if he stares hard enough.

“It’s called The Busty Brahman,” Will’s tone is somewhere between amused and concerned.

“Yes.”

Will looks away to consider the building for a moment. The outside of the building is actually rather low-key, a simple red brick with the sign above the door (no mascots, oddly enough), obviously a few decades old. He shrugs. Each time he shows apprehension, however briefly, Hannibal swears he can see the cogs turning behind Will’s eyes, hear the _click, click, click_ of his thoughts before he comes to a decision. Each time, Hannibal is surprised, which is simultaneously frustrating and delightful. Will has become much more difficult to read, practiced at his manipulations. Prison has done him much good, Hannibal thinks.

“Does Alana know about this… new development in our therapy?” Will’s amused smile reaches his eyes, the crinkles around his eyes and mouth deepening in a way that makes Hannibal want to draw him, right then. He had been substituting Will’s face into his drawings for some time, now, and he is always delighted to discover new expressions and angles.

“I haven’t been inclined to discuss our sessions with Alana, no. That would be a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality, after all,” Hannibal opens the door and gestures at Will to enter ahead of him. “And, of course, she would disapprove.”

Will laughs, shaking his head. The knowledge that Alana is unaware of the shift between them doesn’t seem to bother him, but neither does it seem to please him. Hannibal momentarily wishes he could crack open Will’s skull to look inside.

“I imagine she would,” Will chuckles.

Upon entering the building, they are assaulted by an unnecessary level of bass, the kind that is felt in one’s internal organs. Will seems to find Hannibal’s involuntary grimace very amusing, and Hannibal straightens his posture in response, refusing to be discomposed. Instead, he orders the music into the background of his awareness, focusing less on what he hears and more on what he sees. He plans on seeing as much as he can, after all. 

In contrast to the simplicity of the outside, the inside of the club is completely bedecked in neon and black lights, and brightly coloured fabrics on the walls. And sure enough, there’s a neon mascot - a cow with a multitude of breasts, all with _tassels_ on the nipples. The tassels are animated in two frames, made to look as though being spun. Hannibal refrains from commenting on how ridiculous and _unrealistic_ it is, and makes a note to do some more research in selecting such establishments in the future (and he’s not certain when it became a certainty that he might actually go to a strip club again, but it’s not really the time to unpack that one right now).

They sit in a booth along the wall, just far enough from the stage to be separate from most of the other patrons, but still able to observe the dancers. Hannibal orders the drinks, only _slightly_ higher quality than what they had consumed at the bar previously, and they sit in relative silence for some time, watching dancers on and around the stage. 

As the night wears on, Will’s curiosity is practically tangible; he keeps casting sideways glances at Hannibal, shifting this way and that in his seat, agitated. Hannibal lets him stew in it for a while, simply ordering them more drinks, offering no explanations. He is, perhaps, feeling a little vindictive, having had no opportunity to prepare himself for what Will had dragged him into. He’s also interested to see how long Will is willing to let Hannibal lead the events of the evening, without questioning further, or putting a stop to the evening all together.

There is another purpose in letting Will sit for a while, however. Hannibal observes his body language carefully, following his gaze around the room - he wants to see where Will’s eyes linger. There are a few women that seem to catch his interest, and one, in particular, that he seems to keep track of throughout the evening. Her figure is pleasing enough, Hannibal supposes, though what makes her stand out from the rest is an outfit that is evocative of burlesque dancers of the past, more than a modern stripper.

She is wearing a purple underbust corset, a lacy black bra with matching panties, and a garter belt that is holding up black, backseam stockings. Her shoes might nearly be called sensible, compared to many of the other women, a pair of four inch black patent and purple satin pumps with a few elastic straps to keep them on.

Hannibal gestures to a passing server and calls her over, whispering into her ear when she leans down. Will shoots them a quizzical expression, as Hannibal hands the woman a twenty dollar bill. The server approaches the corseted dancer and says something to her, and Hannibal watches Will frown slightly, leaning forward as though to make out what they’re saying. Hannibal merely leans back and allows his eyes to crinkle just slightly at the corners, inclining his head to see Will’s face when he notices the corseted dancer approach them.

Will’s mouth opens a bit, tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he asks, addressing Hannibal though he doesn’t look at him: “Not content just to watch, Doctor Lecter?”

“In fact, I am perfectly content to watch, Will,” Hannibal smiles. “It is the purpose of the evening.”

He then looks up at the dancer: “What is your name, pretty thing?” 

“Mimosa Divine, at your service, gentlemen,” she curtsies as she replies, giving them both a wink.

“Delightful,” Hannibal looks back to Will. “Will she do, _darling_?”

Will startles a bit at that, Hannibal’s emphasis apparently confusing him momentarily. He composes himself, looking between them, then exhales with a laugh.

“Right. Uh, yeah. Yes,” he gulps down the cheap whiskey he had been nursing for the last thirty minutes with a flourish, and Hannibal swears he can see a flush across Will’s cheeks when their eyes meet again. Without breaking Will’s gaze, Hannibal pulls out a few bills from his wallet, some twenties and fifties, and hands them to Mimosa.

“It is our anniversary, dear Mimosa, and I would very much appreciate if you would indulge me by helping me give my darling husband a lap dance,” he glances up at her, arranging his features into a charming grin. “You will receive additional payment if you can make him spend in his pants.”

Will coughs, bracing himself on the seat as he struggles to compose himself.

“With pleasure,” she replies, grinning.

Will is barely given a moment to react one way or another before Mimosa enthusiastically makes her way over to straddle his lap, brushing the back of her hands along the sides of Will’s face. He instinctively reaches up to grasp at her hips, but she shifts back to slap one hand away as Hannibal grabs the other, perhaps a little too forcefully. Hannibal presses down on Will’s hand into the seat of the booth, his upper lip curled in a snarl.

“Now, Will, you know you mustn’t touch the dancers,” Hannibal punctuates with a tutting sound. “You may only look.”

Will swallows, hard, but nods, turning his eyes back toward Mimosa, who is now undulating against him, one hand braced on his shoulder so she can arch back while pushing her pelvis down and forward. Will’s easy compliance to Hannibal’s admonishment sends a sensation flickering through Hannibal that he can’t quite describe. He tightens his grip on Will’s hand, involuntarily, soothing the gesture with a sweep of his index finger along Will’s wrist.

The music is still loud and pulsating around them, so Hannibal has to lean in a little closer to hear the sound of Will’s breath catching in his throat, coming in shorter puffs as Mimosa continues to writhe her body enticingly against him. It is more engaging and beautiful than any music Hannibal has ever heard.

Hannibal is certain that Mimosa is doing well, just by watching the way Will reacts to her movements. He can’t tear his eyes away from Will’s face, cataloguing each change in his expression - the knitting of his eyebrows, the scrunch of his nose, biting his lower lip. A bead of sweat trickles alluringly down Will’s temple, over a cheekbone and down along his jaw. Hannibal licks his lips, forgetting himself, shifting his position as he feels his cock twitching to hardness.

Will notices.

Even as he watches Mimosa, his eyes casting over the swells of her body, he can’t help but look over at Hannibal, too. Will’s blue eyes have gone dark, pupils dilated, and Hannibal imagines his own are likely dilated as well. He never did master control over all of his bodily functions, much as he would have preferred to. He can feel his body respond to the weight of Will’s attention, pulsating, seeing Will this way - increasingly disheveled and undone, panting and sweating. Not unlike when he was fevered, fearful, but still very different. Fascinating.

Will’s eyes shut, suddenly, and his head falls back as his free hand is grasping, clutching at the faux leather of the booth, his back arching, tense. The hand under Hannibal’s grasp flexes, twists around so that they’re palm to palm, Will’s fingers digging into Hannibal’s wrist. Hannibal doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he exhales heavily along with Will as he relaxes against the seat all at once, Mimosa rising up off of him with a smug grin and an upturned hand.

“Did I earn my _additional payment_?”

Hannibal is still staring at Will as he holds out a few more bills in Mimosa’s general direction, unsure of how much he even gives her, and finding himself unable to care.

“You performed admirably,” he says, though still looking at Will, it’s unclear who the statement is directed to.

Mimosa quirks an eyebrow as she shoves the money into her corset. “Riiiight. Well, happy anniversary, you two. It’s been a treat.”

Neither Will nor Hannibal seem to notice her departure. Hannibal is still clutching at Will’s hand on the seat, and brings up his other to wipe at the sweat along Will’s brow, until it rests at the side of Will’s face, cupping his jaw. Will grins, though weakly, his free hand reaching up to Hannibal’s wrist and hanging there, as though anchoring himself in the moment. His eyes are hazy, glistening, lids drooping slightly. Hannibal feels Will’s touch on his wrist as an electric shock, tightening something in his chest.

“And what did I earn, Doctor Lecter?” Will’s voice is soft, sated. Hannibal’s attention is drawn to Will’s lips. He has never heard Will sound this way, and he decides that he wants to hear it again, in a more controlled environment, where there is no background noise to detract from any lilt or inflection. He _needs_ to hear it again, clearly. For his ears, only. The thought causes a low rumble in Hannibal’s throat.

The moment thrums between them, and so many possibilities and ideas dance around in Hannibal’s mind that he finds himself unable to answer, immediately. He hardly notices when Will extricates his trapped hand and glides it along Hannibal’s thigh, until he feels the shocking heat against his groin. Will rubs his hand against him gently, and his lips part as though to say something else until they are interrupted by a shouting bouncer.

“Hey, this ain’t a fuckin’ sex club, assholes. If yer not watchin’ the girls, get the fuck out.”

Will scrambles back against the booth with a start, the moment destroyed, and Hannibal straightens his posture, smoothing out his suit as he stands. He shoots the bouncer a very calm, but very dark, stare.

“Of course. Our apologies. We will take our leave,” he leaves a few more bills on the table to pay for the drinks, then nods toward Will. “Shall we?”

A little embarrassed, Will nods shakily and stands as well. He tries to smooth out his own clothes to little effect, rumpled as he naturally is. He shifts uncomfortably, and Hannibal smirks, as they both remember that he’s more than a little damp in the trousers. 

Perhaps channeling Hannibal, Will shifts his posture into something more dignified as they make their exit. He immediately drops the act when the cool air hits him, leaning forward so far he has to brace himself on his knees, breathing slowly and deliberately. He looks up at Hannibal with an entirely unreadable expression, jaw tense and fingers flexing into fists as he straightens his back again.

“I hope you realize that this means war,” he smirks, and Hannibal hears the _click, click, click_ of those cogs again, sees them behind blue, captivating eyes.

“I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos/comments are very appreciated!
> 
> I am on tumblr as [chronicopheliac](http://chronicopheliac.tumblr.com/) as well!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For their next excursion, Will takes Hannibal to a sex club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the tags for this one, but I'm not sure about upping the rating? It's definitely a little more sexual, in general, than the first couple of chapters, but I hope that everyone still enjoys it! It got pretty long compared to my other chapters, so I split it up, so now it's like there's a bonus chapter, wee!!
> 
> I tagged mildly dubious consent just 'cause it's, you know, Hannibal and Will. So, I feel like I should, just because it's always kinda mildly dubious, but I don't think it's anything particularly bad? It's mainly that Hannibal doesn't know what he's in for, but I mean... That's the show. So.
> 
> I really have to thank my husband for doing a quick beta-read for me (he's such a good <3), as well as being the one who gave me the names for the different clubs, lol. He's really good at lame puns. XD

The following week, just over an hour before Will’s usual appointment time, Hannibal sits in his office, alone. He prefers to have some time to himself in between clients, to organize his session notes, perhaps have a glass of wine, and prepare for the next session. In Will’s case, he liked to have a little more time, if only to savour the feeling of anticipation that built up prior to his arrival, excited to have someone that can _see_ the way he sees.

He never would have predicted that Will would return to him the way he did after his release from prison, asking to continue their therapy. The creature Will is becoming is more fascinating to Hannibal than any of his previous endeavours, perhaps even combined. And the direction he had taken their little game at the bar that first night out… well. Hannibal doesn’t think anyone could have predicted _that_.

Hannibal’s phone buzzes with a text, interrupting his reverie. He sees Will’s name on the screen, and swipes the message open.

_What r u wearing?_

Hannibal snorts in surprise, and taps out a response: _Why is what I am wearing important?_

_omg just answer the question_  
_trust me_

He sighs.

_A suit, of course. Shall I describe the colour and fabric as well?_

_no. ffs go home & change into smth easier to take off._  
_ill pick u up there at the usual time_

Hannibal purses his lips. He assumes the usual time means their appointment time, and the fact that Will is asking him to change leads him to believe that Will has come up with a way to retaliate in their game. How delightful. With a smile, Hannibal closes up the office, and heads home.

*

At home, Hannibal decides on a quick shower to freshen up - after all, he has been in the suit all day, and he doesn’t know what Will has planned. After the shower, he puts on a little after shave, a good brand, not that Will would notice. He selects a simple pair of charcoal slacks and his red, v-neck sweater, and plain, black leather oxfords. He does as little to gussy up as he can stand, looking in the mirror to tidy his hair satisfactorily. No point in getting too put together if there’s the potential for Will to try and take him apart. He waits.

Five minutes before Will is due to arrive, Hannibal’s phone vibrates.

_im outside cmon u rdy?_

Hannibal rolls his eyes at the phone and pockets it, locking up the house as he leaves. When he gets into Will’s car, he gives him a disapproving glance.

“Your texts are appalling,” Hannibal begins. “In the future, I would rather you just called.”

Will grins, unapologetic: “I wasn’t sure if you were in the middle of a session, Doctor, wouldn’t want to be rude and interrupt,” he sets the car into drive and pulls onto the road.

“My phone is set to silent, during sessions, you could leave a message.”

“A text _is_ a message, Hannibal,” Will’s smile was saccharine.

_Hannibal._

The sound of his name on Will’s lips is beyond charming, and it occurs to Hannibal that Will doesn’t actually use it all that much, if ever. Clearly, he is aware of its potential effect on Hannibal, as a point of manipulation, which is frankly adorable. Hannibal clears his throat, looking out the window to get a handle on himself by not looking at Will.

“Dare I ask where we are going this time?”

“You can ask, but I won’t tell you,” Will looks smug, and the mischievous glint is back in his eyes, like the first night at the bar.

Will parks in downtown Baltimore in a public lot, and when he shuts the car off, he hesitates. Hannibal watches with interest as Will has an internal battle with himself. With a more determined set to his jaw, Will appears to come to a decision, and exits the car; Hannibal follows.

A few blocks over, they approach a multi-story building nestled among sex shops, strip clubs, and greasy little eateries. There is no sign on the outside except for a golden bull decal on a glass pane in the door, along with the establishment’s hours. Upon entering, they find themselves in a foyer of sorts, or perhaps a waiting room. There is a black leather sofa and a few chairs along one wall, with a coffee table scattered with magazines. Ahead, there is a counter to the left of a door, through which muffled electronic music can be heard. A bouncer stands by the door, and a perfectly vapid-looking young woman is behind the counter, complete with a customer service smile. Above the counter, there is a larger version of the golden bull that was on the door, with the words ‘Brazen Bovine’ written below.

“I am beginning to wonder if there is some fixation on cattle within this city that I have managed to completely avoid until now,” Hannibal mutters, eyebrow raised.

Will laughs and grabs his hand, tugging him forward. 

“Must be. None of this in Wolf Trap, anyway.”

In a fantastic display of Hannibal’s self-control, he manages not to react to Will’s hand and allows himself to be pulled along to the counter.

“Of course not. Perhaps a ‘Lusty Lupine’ or ‘Voracious Varg’,” Hannibal quips. “There’s even something to be said of ‘Wolf Trap’ itself, though it’s not nearly so snappy, or alliterative.”

“You know you’re really good at those. Maybe you should look into a career change, open up a new place,” Will says, and his tone can only be described as flirtatious. Hannibal’s hand twitches in Will’s grasp.

The woman greets them at the counter, and Will has apparently made prior arrangements because he gives his name and receives an envelope with both of their names printed on it. There are waiver forms inside, as well as something else that Will pockets quickly, and they sit on the sofa to go through and sign them. It turns out, Will has taken them to a sex club, and Hannibal is a little disappointed in himself for being surprised.

The forms are straightforward, mainly outlining that any injuries incurred on the premises were not the responsibility of the club, and defining the terms of consent, that any acts found to be non consensual would not be tolerated, and so on. Hannibal pauses with his pen over the last, looking over at Will.

“I feel that I must point out that technically, it is not possible to fully give my informed consent this evening, since you have chosen not to share any details as to what you have planned,” he says, quietly, though with a hint of humour in his voice.

“Why, I’m sorry Hannibal. I didn’t realize we were on an informed consent basis,” Will replies, as innocently as possible. The words themselves are more accusatory than his tone, and he leans in with a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Good thing you’re too curious to refuse.”

Hannibal signs the last page and hands them back to Will with a smile. They are shown through the door and, as expected, again assaulted with heavy bass pounding through the main room of the club.

It’s as though each excursion has brought up the quality of the actual venue, however; the decor is decidedly less kitschy and closer to classy, with black leather cushioning the booths, and the only things lining the walls are decorative lights. The overall theme certainly has a sex club vibe - everything is red, black and steel; modern and sensual.

They each order a drink upon approaching the bar, and sit on some stools. Will shifts in his seat, moving to face him and shifting closer so that one of his legs slides between Hannibal’s. A mild frown pulls at Hannibal’s mouth, not at Will so much as himself - he’s unable to control his blood from flowing south, the sensation of Will’s thigh sliding between his own causes a stirring in his cock. It’s ridiculous, the evening has barely begun and Hannibal is nearly dizzy just with proximity and anticipation.

Their eyes meet, and Will smirks a little, reaching forward to gently swipe at a smattering of hair that has fallen across Hannibal’s forehead. In another great display of willpower, Hannibal does not shake his head to make the hair fall back again. He’s reasonably certain that he manages not to look stricken.

“How do you feel tonight, Doctor?” Will sips his drink casually; it’s as infuriating as it is enticing, this act he’s putting on.

Hannibal’s eyes stray downward to their legs, which is a bad idea because it only serves to quicken Hannibal’s pulse upon seeing the stretch of fabric across firm thighs. It’s likely, he thinks, that his pupils are significantly dilated, enough to be obvious, at least to Will. He looks away to the rest of the room to peruse the crowd, instead.

“Tell me, Will, is it important to your plans to know how I feel?” Hannibal tries to deflect. Will merely smiles at him, he can see from the corner of his eye, and Hannibal sighs. “Naturally, I feel uncertain,” he continues. “But you were correct that I am very curious.”

Will smiles a little wider, and Hannibal isn’t sure if the bastard is shifting from uncontained satisfaction or on purpose, but he feels Will’s leg rubbing between his legs, and it’s very difficult to drink from a glass with a clenched jaw. It’s deliberate. It _has_ to be deliberate. How different this creature is from what he used to be. 

Hannibal remembers the unconscious movements of Will’s hands along furniture, the back of his neck, across his lips, rubbing down his face, perhaps grasping at ways to anchor himself in the present. The Will that has returned to him is much more contained, focused, and it’s exciting to think - _know_ \- that can be attributed to Hannibal. Will is occupying a Hannibal-like person suit, sharpening it like a blade and pointing it at Hannibal, pushing back. It’s breathtaking.

Assuming that Will would be watching him, Hannibal goes back to perusing the crowd. As he had watched where Will’s eyes would linger, he now lets his own gaze linger here and there, until one young man in particular catches his eye. He is beautiful, his dark curls reminiscent of Will’s toward the end of his incarceration, and looks to be nearly a decade younger. He dances in the throng of bodies swaying and arching around him, apparently very conscious of how attractive he is. 

There is a comfortable lapse in their conversation, and Hannibal can feel Will’s eyes on him like a caress, the pressure increasing slowly and exquisitely. He uses the moment to test their boundaries, to see where they’ve been renegotiated. His right hand is holding his drink, so his left slides down slowly, along his own thigh, then over to Will’s knee. His touches are light, tentative, rubbing over the knee with his thumb, his fingers splaying out over the inside of Will’s thigh. He wishes the music were quieter, so he could hear any sounds that might come from Will’s mouth. He can feel the muscles in Will’s leg tensing and relaxing against his touch.

Encouraged, Hannibal squeezes, and Will’s hand flies down to grasp at Hannibal’s fingers, pressing down to increase the pressure. Hannibal finds himself looking into blue eyes again, almost able to perceive a million things flitting about behind them. Will’s lips are parted, and he leans forward.

“I’ve booked some time in a private room,” he says, giving Hannibal’s hand a squeeze as he stands and tugs him along.

Hannibal feels a little breathless as their fingers stay tangled together loosely, presumably to keep up the ruse of being a couple, only drifting apart when they reach a small hallway in the far corner of the room. There are three doors on the left, four on the right, and one at the end marked ‘Employees Only.’ Will reaches into his pocket and produces a key that has a keychain that looks like miniature handcuffs. He unlocks the door and tugs Hannibal inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> I am on tumblr as [chronicopheliac](http://chronicopheliac.tumblr.com/) as well!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second part of the last chapter, sexy times ensue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags, but I still want to make sure that everyone is aware that this chapter includes some bondage, flogging, binding/restraint, and m/m oral sex.

The room isn’t very big, maybe twelve feet deep and sixteen feet across. The walls are painted slate grey, which looks almost blue under the fluorescent lighting, with some framed posters of porn stars on one side. There is a black leather loveseat and matching sofa, with a simple black coffee table in one corner, and a mini bar with a small counter and sink, and two stools in the other. Along the right wall is a St. Andrew’s cross, and next to that a leather-covered dungeon horse. Beside that is a cabinet, which Hannibal assumes is filled with things like straps and blindfolds and lubricant.

The opposite wall has a an odd-looking chair (odd for the gap in the actual seat part of it, and Hannibal assumes that this is for ease of access), some stocks, and a cushioned leather panel with metal plate staples along either side of it to fasten people against it. In the center of the room is a padded square, also lined with plate staples.

“Stand over there,” Will says softly, gesturing to the padding in the center. Hannibal feels a shiver run through him as he complies. The soft leather padding actually looks rather clean, so he removes his shoes and sets them aside by the sofa before stepping onto it.

“Take off your sweater,” Will’s voice comes out just a little unsteadily, and Hannibal feels no small amount of pleasure at that. They watch each other unflinchingly as Hannibal complies in this, too. When the garment is off, he folds it carefully and sets it aside on the back of the sofa.

Will goes to the cabinet to take something from the topmost drawer. Hannibal sees, upon Will’s return, that he is holding black leather straps lined with padding so as to minimize discomfort when pulled tight. Hannibal holds out his wrists, unable to keep a hint of mirth from crinkling the corners of his eyes. Will’s eyes cast downward at the motion, lips parting, and Hannibal can see his pupil’s dilate, blue overtaken by black.

His touch is tentative, gentle, when he grasps Hannibal’s wrists to bind them individually, pulling the straps snug against Hannibal’s skin. Hannibal’s breath catches at each brush of Will’s fingers, watching them as they skirt along the edge of the straps, then travel upwards along the corded muscles of his forearms. Will lets out a considering sound, a low, soft puff of air as he grazes his blunt fingernails over the ridges of Hannibal’s scars - the scars that he bears as a direct result of Will’s influence.

Hannibal is riveted.

His hands clench and unclench, the tension in his jaw rippling the muscles underneath his skin, his entire body suddenly possessed of the urge to lurch forward and consume Will in any way he can, completely and entirely. He is able to fight the urge, but he suspects that something in his face gives away the turmoil within. Will is staring at him, eyes wide, his touch still lingering at the scars. He presses his nails into Hannibal’s arm briefly before pulling away and moving behind him.

When Will leans forward, Hannibal can hear the tingling warmth of his breath against his ear: “Kneel.”

The soft moan Hannibal lets out is entirely involuntary and he kneels, dropping his head forward. The heat of Will’s body so close to his own prickles on his skin, proximity making the air crackle between them. He leans back to feel the contact of his shoulders and back against Will’s thighs, and Will lets his fingers trace feathery touches down Hannibal’s forearms before moving to his side and crouching down, fastening the hook on the end of one strap to one of the staples. He moves to the other side and does the same to the other arm, then straightens.

A moment of hesitation seems to pass over Will again, as he looks down at Hannibal.

“Do you… Should we...” he tries. Hannibal only looks at him. “A safe word. We should have one, at least. Even if you won’t use it.”

He sounds so certain of it, and Hannibal swells with pride, pleased to be known. He considers for a moment.

“Ortolan.”

A laugh bursts out of Will, loudly, and he rubs a hand down his face. “I… guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Okay. Fine. Ortolan it is.” The hesitation is gone, and Will relaxes.

He leans forward and reaches toward Hannibal’s face - his hair has fallen into disarray again, so Will brushes it aside, back into place. Hannibal decides against asking him why he’s doing it, in case it’s more of an unconscious gesture. He doesn’t want it to stop.

“Wait here,” Will says, as though Hannibal could move. “I'll be back.”

All things considered, the restraints are actually very good. Hannibal tugs at them experimentally - they are just long enough to allow him to kneel with a straight back, though it’s a bit uncomfortable, and it would take a bit of effort to break them. He rests back on his heels, and waits. He feels Will’s absence like a (draft), an emptiness. Seconds drag on like hours, minutes like years. He is not an impatient man, but he can’t help the prick of anxiety that starts in the pit of his stomach. There is no clock in the room, and he had removed his watch at home in an effort to forgo any ornamentation. How utterly foolish of him. Nonetheless, he’s fairly certain that Will hasn’t left him. Probably.

By his estimation, it’s nearly half an hour before Will returns again, and Hannibal’s eyes shine with something like satisfaction along with the relieved breath that escapes him. The beautiful man with the curls is there, grinning. Will also smiles.

“Did you think I left you?”

“It never crossed my mind, dear Will,” Hannibal smiles back, showing teeth. “You’ve brought me a gift.”

“I should probably gag you.”

“But you want to hear me.”

“Yes,” Will says, and it comes out more like an exhalation. He gestures to the man, inviting him into the room, closing the door. “This is Abdul. Abdul, this is Hannibal.”

“Your boyfriend told me you like me,” Abdul approaches Hannibal slowly, his entire body tense with anticipation. “He said you’ve been staring at me since you got here.”

Hannibal looks at will, then back to Abdul. “That is correct.”

“He also says,” Abdul moves closer, reaches a hand out to skim across his shoulder, and brushes past him, behind him. “That it makes him jealous. He wants you to be punished, for your wandering eyes.”

The straps dig into Hannibal’s wrist when he tenses, his head dropping forward as he takes a stabilizing breath. He can hear Abdul behind him, opening a drawer, rummaging, closing it again. Hannibal can’t hear him approach but he can smell him; he has the scent of a dozen people all over him, and then he feels a gentle pressure against the skin of his lower back, gliding slowly upwards, over his shoulder, to his collarbone. Abdul is moving around to the front of him, and Hannibal sees that he is holding a leather crop, with leather tails on one end, and a wider folded tip at the other. He can’t see where Will is, in that moment. He needs to see him.

“Will,” he breathes. “I need to see you.”

“I’m here,” comes the uneven reply, Will coming into view, captivated. Captivating. “Whip him on his chest, with the tails.”

Abdul does so, lightly at first, testing. Harder, over Hannibal’s nipples, across his stomach, and a sweet kind of sting blooms across his skin. He had been getting at least partially aroused all night, but now he feels himself swell to full hardness, heat pooling in his belly. He looks at Will, briefly, then forces himself to look away, at Abdul. He makes a show of it, watching Abdul as though he is the most beautiful creature in the room, drooping, as though it’s only Abdul that’s bringing him pleasure.

“ _Harder_ ,” Will commands, voice rough with tension.

The whip cracks harder against Hannibal’s skin, raising red and pink welts across his chest. He doesn’t flinch, but his breathing turns ragged, as he strains forward against the straps. Abdul begins to move, varying the force of the whip along Hannibal’s sides and arms, across his back. He begins to alternate with soothing touches with his other hand, then scraping his nails over the welts. Hannibal hisses at the contact, dropping his head back. He turns his head to look at Abdul, and at last, Will snaps.

“Stop. Wait,” he says, stepping forward swiftly and putting his hand over Abdul’s, holding the whip.

“Is something wrong?” Abdul asks.

Will shakes his head. “No. No, you’re fine. I just…” his hand passes over his face, and Hannibal feels a little thrill of triumph.

Will drops to his knees on the padding in front of Hannibal and reaches for his belt, fumbling at the buckle with shaky hands. He takes a steadying breath and continues, practically ripping it from Hannibal’s waist and tossing it aside. He starts at the button of Hannibal’s trousers.

“You wore a fucking belt,” Will mutters.

“A belt is not difficult to remove,” Hannibal replies.

A sigh, and Will tugs Hannibal’s pants down along with his underwear, as far as it will go around his thighs. Hannibal’s cock bobs forward, flushed and hard, and Will almost looks taken aback, as though he didn’t know what he was expecting. He clutches at Hannibal’s hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and stares. He shakes his head and closes his eyes briefly, then loosens his grip. He lets his hands glide up and down Hannibal’s sides a few times, a soothing gesture, and pushes himself back up. He holds a hand out to Abdul.

“Give me the crop, please.”

Abdul looks a little disappointed, but hands it over. Hannibal feels the tickle of the leather on his back, as Will sweeps it gently along his spine and between his shoulder blades. He tries snapping the tails against Hannibal’s skin at different angles, gently, then less so, and Hannibal moans. It’s like he can feel the tension in Will building up and and releasing with every snap, and he feels that familiar need to consume him.

There’s a movement in the corner of Hannibal’s eye, and he sees Abdul come into view. He grabs the odd chair from the other wall and sets it in front of Hannibal, sitting on it, and Hannibal realizes with no small amount of delight that Abdul plans to do something that Hannibal couldn’t have orchestrated better himself. Abdul bites his lip sensually, dipping a hand down into his trousers, palming himself.

Hannibal feels the shift in the atmosphere behind him before the other end of the crop hits his backside, hard. Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed at the contact, and there’s a low rumble in his throat that turns into another moan at the second blow. Abdul opens his trousers and is stroking his own cock more insistently, and Hannibal can’t help himself.

“My, my,” he pants. “You have unfurled quite beautifully for me, haven’t you.”

Abdul smiles at him, spreading his legs a little wider for a better view as he tugs at himself with long, languid strokes.

A third blow, and another before Hannibal feels a sharp tug at the hair on the back of his head, Will’s lips against his ear.

“Stop looking at him.”

“How can I, when he has displayed himself solely for my benefit.”

He is shoved forward as Will crouches down to tug at the restraints, removing them from their mooring on the ground. Hannibal drops forward onto his hands, breathing harshly, doing his best to tamp down the grin that threatens to cross his face.

“Get up,” says Will, and his tone is laced with both anger and desire.

It is difficult to stand after kneeling so long, but Hannibal manages.

“May I remove my pants, please,” he asks as steadily as he can manage.

Will nods sharply, waiting for Hannibal to step out of the trousers before dragging him forward by one of the straps, not giving him a chance to fuss and fold the clothing.

The desire that had been pooling low in Hannibal’s belly begins to spread, sending shocks of excitement through his body. _Will is jealous_ , he thinks. _He is possessive._ The realization is more intensely arousing than anything, and a variety of new ideas begin to take shape in his mind as he is tugged along to the St. Andrew’s cross. Will fastens each strap up on the top planks, then goes to the cupboard to get more straps for Hannibal’s ankles. When he is fully secured, Will looks at Abdul.

“Come here, please,” Will holds his hand out.

Abdul is mesmerized, and stumbles forward a little, pants shifting down to around his knees. He manages to close the distance between himself and Will, however, and Will brings a hand up to stroke down the side of Abdul’s face. Hannibal’s jaw is so tense it begins to ache.

“You’ve been doing very well, Abdul, thank you,” Will murmurs, pulling Abdul close so he can brush his lips against his ear. “I’d like you to go down on him, now.”

Fervently, Abdul nods and drops to his knees in front of Hannibal, running hands up the outside of Hannibal’s thighs, reaching behind and gently kneading the muscles of his backside. Hannibal looks down when he feels the tickle of hot, moist breath, but his jaw is gripped tightly and his head forced back up.

“You look at me,” Will says, voice low. Hannibal can feel Will’s pulse through the grip on his jaw, though it could just as easily be his own.

“Yes,” he whispers.

The hands on his ass are sliding down the backs of his thighs, and Abdul leans forward to tentatively lick at the precome dripping from the head of Hannibal’s penis. Hannibal’s eyes flutter at the sensation, and Will reaches down to grab Abdul’s hair, tangling into the dark curls at his nape.

“And you,” Will says sharply. “You listen to me.”

Abdul nods, the motion somewhat restrained by Will’s hold. Will relaxes his hand and pets, gently, smoothing over the curls. Abdul practically purrs, arching against Will’s hand.

“Now,” Will says, looking directly at Hannibal. “Keep your hands on his thighs, and suck the head. Gently.” He runs his fingers through Abdul’s hair as though to guide him.

With a pleasant hum, Abdul leans forward and does as Will commands, lips just wrapping around the ridge of the head, suckling lightly. Hannibal shivers, clenching his hands into fists. Will’s eyes on him make him feel more trapped than the restraints.

“Good, he likes that. Take more, just a little,” Will breaks the gaze briefly to guide one of Abdul’s hands up to Hannibal’s testicles, positioning him so that his fingers reach just behind, putting pressure against his perineum. It would feel good regardless, but the knowledge that it’s Will’s hands positioning, pressing down over Abdul’s to show him what he wants… Hannibal can feel his body tense up, arching toward Abdul’s mouth.

Will’s other hand had been gripping the crop, but he drops it now and brings his hand up to Hannibal’s chest. His fingers are teasing, testing, skirting around Hannibal’s nipples and through his chest hair, occasionally scraping with nails to intensify the sting still felt along the stripes on his skin from the whip. Hannibal’s breath is shallow and ragged, his muscles are sore, and he bears some of his weight, painfully, with his wrists, to relieve his knees. Will wraps his hand around Hannibal’s throat and presses, only a little, tilting his head to brush his lips across Hannibal’s. It’s not a kiss so much as a caress, with no pressure at all to it - just enough proximity to share breath and feel skin. He pulls back.

“Take him as deep as you can.”

Hannibal’s legs give out under him as he comes, and his moan is from pain mingling with pleasure, head lolling back to hit against the plank of the cross. Abdul swallows and pulls back, breathing heavily with his own climax; he had continued touching himself through his ministrations. He reaches for the button on Will’s trousers and Will stops him, firmly.

“No, thank you,” he gives Abdul a friendly smile. “I… uh. You did well. Thanks. Sorry but… I’d like for you to go, now.”

Abdul stands, returning Will’s smile with a lopsided grin of his own.

“Sure, it’s fine, I understand you want to be alone with your boyfriend,” he says as he goes to the minibar and grabs a hand towel to wipe himself down before tucking himself back into his pants. “That was pretty intense, though, thanks for inviting me along.”

Hannibal doesn’t acknowledge him at all, still concentrating on getting a hold on his breathing, which is difficult with the pressure of the straps on his wrists. Will’s attention is back on him, and his eyes widen in surprise, remembering Hannibal’s predicament.

“Oh, hey, sorry.”

He hastily reaches to release Hannibal’s arms, then his legs, letting Hannibal’s weight settle against him. They both sink to the floor, Will’s arms wrapping around Hannibal and guiding his head down to his chest. Hannibal inhales deeply, surrounding himself in Will’s scent, warming himself against Will’s body.

“Okay?” Will murmurs against his temple.

“Okay,” he replies thickly, a distant part of him irritated at how difficult it is to speak.

Neither he nor Will notice Abdul leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> I am on tumblr as [chronicopheliac](http://chronicopheliac.tumblr.com/) as well!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will goes to Hannibal's for dinner, and Hannibal takes the next step in their game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg this is almost done. I have most of the next (last!!) chapter written, and it'll probably be up this weekend! I'm so happy! I went through and edited this as best I could, but it's still unbeta'd... hopefully it's still okay, lol.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your wonderful comments and kudos, I'm so ridiculously happy that people are enjoying my story! :D!!

There are a number of ways that Hannibal can think of to step up their little game from here. The challenge lies in knowing exactly which potential escalations can end with dire consequences, and which with pleasant results. It’s actually rather exciting that he can’t be certain which idea might backfire. Will has continued to be unpredictable, turning Hannibal’s own immaculate control back against him, and it’s _fantastic_.

Unsurprisingly, the interactions between them outside of the context of their special ‘appointments’ haven’t changed. At least, if there has been any perceptible shift in their dynamic, no one has commented on it. Even when they’ve been alone any other time, they haven’t discussed anything of what’s passed between them, nor has there been any overt renegotiation of boundaries. If they still have any.

The sex club had been a most illuminating experience. It revealed a side of Will that Hannibal did not dare to hope existed, and now that he’s had a taste, he’s grown to crave it, wanting it in any and all possible configurations. And though he is a patient man, he reminds himself, if he is to successfully provoke the desired outcome, it’s best to do what he can to… expedite the new facet of Will’s transformation, with some caution, of course.

So, it’s only two days later when Hannibal, expecting Will for dinner at his home, decides to take action to force Will to acknowledge that things are definitely different, and to force him to _act_.

In the interest of making things easier, should the evening go according to Hannibal’s plan, he opts for a pair of plain slacks in a deep, eggplant colour but with no belt, a matching vest but no jacket, a pale blue and lavender striped shirt, and a navy and eggplant paisley tie. This way, he is still dressed enough in his usual, meticulous way not to arouse any suspicion as to his intentions before he wants them known.

He is just finishing preparing the garnish for some potatoes when he hears a familiar footfall approaching the kitchen. Will doesn’t knock or ring the doorbell - it’s a boundary that hardly existed between them in the first place. Hannibal can smell the aftershave before he sees him (with his tamed curls and clean-cut black trousers and cornflower blue shirt, which pleased him at first but now it doesn’t, it isn’t as it should be) in the doorway, and he tamps down a smile. The aftershave really is awful.

“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal nods in his direction and goes back to chopping some parsley.

“Evening, Doctor Lecter,” Will replies, approaching the counter and taking up another knife to chop the chives that Hannibal has set aside. This has been their Sunday evening routine, lately - Will arrives just early enough to help with the finishing touches on dinner, and they spend the evening speaking in half-truths and poetic observations over wine. “What are we having, tonight?”

“I decided on a fairly simple meal this evening, enchaud perigordine with a roasted bone marrow salad.”

“Is it ever difficult for you to say that kind of shit with a straight face? ‘Simple,’ he says,” Will rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

Hannibal looks appropriately disgruntled, though his eyes crinkle at the corners. He sets the knife down and wipes his hands on a dishtowel. “The pork did not require the usual amount of effort to prepare, Will, so I call it simple. It is only a pork roast.”

“Right,” Will takes both knives and brings them to the sink to wash. “So,” he continues without preamble, “what did Alana say about the marks?”

Hannibal blinks, surprised that Will is acknowledging anything at all. “Marks?”

“Yeah, you know. I mean, I assume that there are probably some bruises from-“ he clears his throat, but it doesn’t do much to strengthen his voice. “The other night. With the crop.”

“Ah,” Hannibal places the cutting boards in the sink from behind Will, curving his left arm around to drop them in without touching him, but intentionally close enough to feel his body heat. “She hasn’t seen them.”

“She-” there is a clatter when Will drops the cutting board in the sink, and he picks it back up casually, pretending it didn’t happen. “She hasn’t… I thought you two normally had dinner on Saturdays,” he says, his tone carefully neutral.

“We do,” Hannibal replies, as he puts the salad together. “In fact, I spoke with her last night about returning our relationship to a more… professional distance.”

The silence between them is tangible, as Will finishes washing the cutting boards and turns off the water. He wipes his hands on the dishtowel and turns around, leaning back against the sink and bracing his hands on the edge. He seems to be lost in thought.

“Oh,” he says after a while, almost too quiet to hear. “Um. She wasn’t too pleased with that, I imagine.”

Hannibal’s mouth twitches into a toothy grin as he chuckles, shaking his head. “No, she was not. She said that she was disappointed to discover that I am like most other men, after all. It’s likely that she won’t be speaking to me for a little while.”

It’s Will’s turn to laugh, head ducking down as he brings up a hand to the back of his neck, and Hannibal is charmed by his bashful display. “Wow, so now you’re just like other men, huh?”

“Her current perception of me still maintains the desired effect,” Hannibal says. “The scales remain over her eyes.”

“Why,” comes the shaky inquiry, and when Hannibal’s eyes meet Will’s he is struck momentarily breathless. Will’s face is suddenly open to him, a hint of fear and doubt, the way he looked when they had first met. Hannibal wants to fold him into his arms and stroke his back, tangle his fingers into those curls and make them wild again.

“That is what you wanted, is it not? To separate me from Alana,” Hannibal steps forward, but maintains a relaxed posture.

Shame flickers on Will’s face and he looks down. “Yes. I… Yeah, that was a part of it, I guess.”

Will is beautiful, vulnerable, and Hannibal’s hands twitch with the desire to reach out and touch, but this isn’t what Hannibal wants. At least not tonight.

Hannibal puts a hand on Will’s shoulder and squeezes, gently.

“Thank you for your help, Will, you can leave the rest to me and wait in the dining room.”

Will nods, not meeting his eyes, and goes to dining room.

Moments later, the food is arranged and set on the table, and Will takes it upon himself to open the bottle of wine and serve them both, while Hannibal pauses with his carving knife over the roast. He steels himself, taking a moment to go over his plans one last time. When the wine is poured and the bottle set back down, Hannibal speaks.

“Tell me, Will,” he says, with a casual tone as he catches Will’s gaze. “How shall I carve the roast for us?”

Will looks mildly confused, but Hannibal knows that he’s probably feigning. “Is this a test, Doctor Lecter?”

It takes a bit more effort to maintain the composure on his face, but Hannibal tries again: “I merely wish for you to advise me as to your preference.”

“Okay then, make it thick and juicy, I guess,” Will’s eyes are narrowed suspiciously, but Hannibal wonders at his choice of words.

It takes a few more attempts during their dinner, Hannibal asking how to serve the salad, whether they should have some more wine, when he thought it was appropriate to bring out dessert. 

It isn’t until his last question, which is deliberately crafted to be a little more blatant, that Will finally seems to catch on to what Hannibal is trying to do.

Hannibal asks: “And what would you have me do, now?”

It’s a simple question, but the shift in Will’s understanding shows plainly on his face. Though it is increasingly difficult, Hannibal manages to keep his expression neutral, waiting for Will’s response - his _decision_ , that will affect the course of whatever is developing between them.

Several seconds pass, presumably for dramatic effect, with Will looking at him with a crackling sort of intensity. Hannibal closes his eyes for a moment, inhales deeply, and opens them again, his lips parting in anticipation. His hands close into fists as they rest on his knees. If Will doesn’t respond the way he hopes, Hannibal isn’t sure what he’s going to do. He hopes not to find out.

“All right. Let’s go to the living room, by the fireplace. Get the fire going.”

The expression on Will’s face is incomprehensible. Hannibal isn’t sure if this is a positive reaction, there's nothing in Will’s posture or face giving him any insight. He nods anyway, standing and reaching for the dishes to clean them up, first. Will’s hand flies out to catch Hannibal’s wrist, tightly.

“No, leave that for now.”

Hannibal swallows forcibly, nodding, and follows as Will leads them into the living room. He goes to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a whisky, so Hannibal works on starting the fire. When it’s adequately ignited, he turns to face Will again, silent to give the impression that he is awaiting further instruction. 

Will is seated on one of the chairs in front of the fire, his glass of whisky held almost carelessly, resting his wrist on the arm of the chair. His posture is relaxed, but Hannibal can see the familiar tension in Will’s jaw that tends to accompany the million thoughts running through his head, considering his next move.

“Come here,” says Will after a sip of whisky, so it isn’t certain if the hoarseness of his voice is from drink or desire.

Hannibal approaches, slowly, stopping only a step away from Will’s legs, splayed out gracelessly. Will reaches behind himself to grab the decorative cushion on the chair, and he sets it on the floor at his feet.

“Kneel,” he instructs, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in a grasp for control over himself when Hannibal drops to his knees on the cushion.

Will leans forward and brings his left hand, the one not holding his drink, to the side of Hannibal’s face. Only his fingertips make contact, gently brushing along Hannibal’s cheekbone, down along his jawline, until they rest on Hannibal’s lips. Hannibal’s lips part again, breath hitching in his throat, and he can already feel himself getting hard. He can’t help the curious glance downward to see if he can tell whether Will is similarly aroused. The only light in the room, however, is the fire, and Hannibal’s body is blocking it from illuminating anywhere below Will’s shoulders.

The pressure on Hannibal’s lips increases, nudging experimentally. Hannibal opens his mouth, obliging, to take in two of Will’s fingers all the way to the last knuckle. He can at least see the dilation in Will’s pupils, and the change in his breathing as Hannibal closes his lips to suck gently, pressing his tongue up against the pads of Will’s fingers. He wants - needs - to see each reaction, every little flutter of movement behind Will’s eyes, so Hannibal keeps his gaze steady, unwavering.

“Shit,” Will breathes, absently setting his drink down on the side table so he can bring up his other hand to muss Hannibal’s hair, tugging at the end of each stroke through the strands.

Hannibal brings his right hand up to Will’s wrist as it flexes with movement, fingers sliding in and out of the wet heat of Hannibal’s mouth, but Will pulls it away with his other hand before wrapping it around Hannibal’s throat. He squeezes, leaning forward.

“I didn’t say you could move, Hannibal.”

Hannibal moans around Will’s fingers at the sound of his name, low and harsh from Will’s lips. He drops his hand and lowers his eyelids a fraction, to show obedience. _This_ ; this is the Will he wants to see. Will’s posture straightens, making it necessary for him to look down his nose at Hannibal. He releases Hannibal’s throat to give him a rewarding pat, which causes Hannibal’s eyes to flutter closed, briefly.

There is a moment of palpable hesitation, Will goes completely still, and Hannibal is concerned that Will is changing his mind. Will pulls back his fingers, deliberately angling down as he draws them out to spread some drool around Hannibal’s mouth and chin.

“Remove my belt and unzip my pants.”

With an exhale of relief, Hannibal nudges himself forward, between Will’s knees, and pulls at the buckle of Will’s belt. It clatters to the floor and Hannibal does his best to unfasten Will’s pants as though he isn’t in a hurry to get into them. He doesn't want to risk some admonishment that might draw this out. He hovers his hand over the bulge in Will’s boxers, looking up at him imploringly.

A nod from Will, and Hannibal tugs at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to expose the fully hard cock beneath. It's incredibly gratifying to see Will already aroused, and it does more to send rushing heat between Hannibal’s legs than he could have predicted. Hannibal’s tongue flicks out over his lower lip, his eyes now fixed on the sight of firm, reddened flesh, wanting more than anything to taste the bit of precome beginning to leak from the tip. He wraps a hand around the base with one hand, the other coming to rest high on Will’s thigh, fingers trembling against his warmth.

He feels Will’s hand tangle into his hair again, fingers holding firm at the back of his head, and Will leans forward enough to rest his forehead against Hannibal’s.. He can feel Will’s breath against his skin, and he squeezes his own thighs together to relieve some of the pressure there.

“I’m going to use your mouth,” Will says so low it’s almost a whisper, not giving Hannibal time to absorb his words before he’s pushing his head down, breaching forcefully past his lips until he hits the back of Hannibal’s throat.

The sudden intrusion almost makes Hannibal gag, his hands splaying out to both of Will’s thighs to stabilize himself, and he has to force himself to breathe through his nostrils so he can concentrate on relaxing his throat. Will tugs him back, then pushes down again, slower this time, with his attention captivated by the stretch of Hannibal’s lips, groaning at the pressure of Hannibal’s tongue.

There is no urgency to Will’s movement, tugging and pushing at Hannibal like he’s testing his limits, analysing each sensation, marveling at Hannibal’s control over his gag reflex. Hannibal’s left hand seeks to cup Will’s testicles, putting a little pressure with two fingers behind them against the perineum, while his other hand wanders down to his own throbbing erection. Will pulls Hannibal off, sharply, forcing his head back at a painful angle.

“If you’re finding it difficult to keep your hands still,” Will says, releasing the hold on Hannibal’s hair to pluck at Hannibal’s tie, removing it in a graceless, violent motion. “I’ll have to assist you with that. Put your hands behind your back.”

Hannibal’s breath comes ragged, saliva running down his chin, and he touches his wrists together behind his back, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Will’s chest to allow him easier access down his arms. Will wraps the tie around Hannibal’s wrists a few times and knots it, giving it a tug.

“Try that.”

Hannibal wriggles his wrists and hands, flexes his shoulders, and he can feel that the binding is solid and the angle is just on the pleasant side of uncomfortable. He’s not surprised that Will is adept at knots, knowing his familiarity with boats and fishing lures. A lascivious need courses through Hannibal’s body, desire and fascination pooling together to make him feel dangerously close to foolish, wanting to murmur all his worship and praise against Will’s skin.

Satisfied, Will grabs the back of Hannibal’s head again and pushes him back down, relentlessly this time, pushing his cock into Hannibal’s mouth with a rhythm seeking pleasure and release, rather than cataloguing each sensation. His hips thrust up with each push down on Hannibal’s head, and he’s moaning loudly on every exhale, hissing out the occasional ‘fuck’ or ‘Hannibal’ between breaths.

Hannibal is dizzy, both from the insufficient oxygen and elation at the wanton way Will is taking his own pleasure, that all of Will’s desire is focused on him. If it had been electrifying to press against Will with the hands of another, Hannibal isn’t sure what he would call this feeling that enthralls him now, with no one else between them.

Will’s movements become jerky, uneven, his moans slowing to low, drawn out sighs. Hannibal feels Will’s cock twitch against the roof of his mouth, in the back of his throat, and he feels the hot surge of release as Will comes, holding Hannibal in place all the way to the hilt.

The hand tangled in Hannibal’s hair loosens as Will collapses back against the chair, petting gently over his face when Hannibal turns his head to rest his cheek on Will’s thigh. They’re both panting, and it takes several minutes before Will is able to come back to himself enough to slide down off the chair to the floor, urging Hannibal onto his lap and reaching behind him to release his wrists from the tie. 

Hannibal leans heavily on Will’s shoulder, and he lets his arms fall limply to his sides. Will runs his hands soothingly up and down Hannibal’s back, probably aware that he must be aching, though nothing compares to the delicious ache in Hannibal’s jaw. He hums in pleasure, flexing his muscles to feel how far the soreness goes. His jaw will likely hurt for days.

It’s a delightful thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Just a few days 'till the last chapter woooo~
> 
> Comments and kudos are awesome~!
> 
> I'm on tumblr as [chronicopheliac](http://chronicopheliac.tumblr.com) as well!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rather intense blowjob in front of the fire place, Hannibal and Will decide to move up to the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh man. It's done. It is DONE. I managed to get my editing done today, and I'm pretty sure it's all okay... and I'm really really impatient so here's the last chapter weeeeeee ENJOY!

Hannibal wants more.

Desire is still coiled tightly in his belly, and he sighs against Will’s shoulder with idle thoughts of consumption and control. He wants all of the aches, as much as Will can give, and he wants to give them back in equal measure. Just to drive the point home for himself, he flexes his jaw some more to make the pain bloom fresh in his muscles. 

He feels himself being pressed back by Will’s hand against his chest and opens his mouth to protest, but his words are interrupted by the tentative press of lips, and he forgets how to breathe.

Will’s hands are on either side of Hannibal’s face, stroking, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. His tongue flicks out, seeking, and Hannibal opens his mouth to meet it with his own. It’s languid and sensual, he can taste the remnants of Will in his own mouth mingled with _more_ Will, and whisky. A rumble escapes the back of his throat, rough and broken, ending in a sigh when Will breaks the kiss. Hannibal’s mouth turns down into something that must be completely ghastly like a pout, because when Will pulls back far enough to look at him, he laughs.

It’s a beautiful, fond sort of laugh, and Hannibal wonders if it’s possible to capture it, to have for always. And, oh, _oh_ , Hannibal realizes: he’s damned. Wrecked. Completely ruined. He isn't even trying to get control of his facial expressions.

“ _Will_ ,” he manages to say, a hoarse whisper.

As though understanding everything Hannibal means to say, Will kisses him tenderly, tugging at Hannibal’s lower lip with his teeth. Trembling hands betray Will’s nerves as he runs his hands down Hannibal’s back, curling his fingers to ruck up his shirt, so he can feel skin. Hannibal’s hands clutch at the front of Will’s shirt, his hips shifting in Will’s lap seeking more friction. Will pulls back from the kiss with a soft ‘oh,’ suddenly realizing that Hannibal still has an erection. A small smile illuminates Will’s face, accompanied by a flush, looking away into the flames still dancing in the fireplace.

“It’s pretty uncomfortable down here,” he ventures, hands wandering down to timidly squeeze Hannibal’s backside.

“Yes,” Hannibal agrees, enjoying the flicker of firelight across Will’s features, pressing back against inquisitive hands, his own clutching at Will’s sides.

“I assume that your bed is probably more comfortable.”

It’s beyond ridiculous, Hannibal thinks, that they are fumbling about with each other like besotted teenagers, but he can’t do anything except grunt in agreement as he presses himself against Will’s chest, nudging his nose behind Will’s ear to catch the scent of his sweaty curls. Perhaps it is a failing of the relationship they have cultivated that neither seems able to say what they want outright, but even that little epiphany doesn't prompt Hannibal to be straightforward.

“If you’re certain,” Hannibal croaks, to his own surprise. It’s not like he’d ever let Will go now, not without a lot of bloodshed, so Will’s certainty is hardly important. Is it?

“Hah, well then, might I suggest that we move there?” Will asks with a hint of amusement, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I mean, _I’m_ no spring chicken and my ass is already killing me, I can only imagine what _you_ must be feeling… I mean, unless you’re used to it. Did they even have furniture in Lithuania back in the eighteenth century?”

And Hannibal is shocked, absolutely _appalled_ that Will would allude so rudely to his age.

Well. Not _that_ shocked, if he’s being honest with himself, but he’s not going to give up an opportunity to use the perceived insult as an excuse to manhandle Will.

He slides back off of Will’s lap probably more aggressively than strictly necessary, but Hannibal feels justified when he sees that Will's expression is entirely deadpan. While there is no humour in Hannibal’s expression when he stands, he can't stop the smirk as he bends to lift Will up and over his shoulder, ignoring the screaming in all his joints. Will makes a gloriously undignified noise and beats his fists against Hannibal’s back as he is transported toward the stairs.

“Indeed we did not, and since we also did not have the luxury of pack animals, we had to carry our baggage with us whenever we traveled,” Hannibal’s voice is still rough, and his arms are sore, but he refuses to acknowledge any discomfort. He also ignores Will’s valiant attempts at extricating himself, clamping his arms down over the back of Will’s legs to make most of his flailing about quite useless.

“First I’m a mongoose, then a fragile fucking teacup, now I’m _baggage_? If I didn’t know any better,” Will says between grunts of exertion. “I’d say that your opinion of me has actually lowered over time.”

“Nonsense, I am very fond of your upholstery, Will.”

The struggling intensifies, but Hannibal does not release him until they reach the bedroom, where he drops Will onto the bed like a sack of potatoes. Before Will has a chance to fight back, Hannibal is over him, holding him down with a grind of his hips and grabbing both hands to pin them above his head at the wrists. The exertion of dragging Will upstairs has helped to return some presence of mind to Hannibal, and there is nothing tentative about the way he plunders Will’s mouth, injecting the depth of his interest, all of his positive regard, into it.

_Not just positive regard_ , Hannibal corrects himself, somewhere in the back of his mind. _Far more than that. Fascination. Worship._

_Love_.

Impassioned kisses are pressed along Will’s jaw, across his throat, to the dip of his clavicle, and there is a shirt still in the way, so Hannibal broadens the grip of one hand to keep Will’s wrists pinned while the other plucks at buttons, pushing the shirt open to expose flushed skin. The tip of Hannibal’s tongue flicks out over one of Will’s nipples, and Will writhes beneath him, exhaling with a throaty moan. It’s followed by a hiss from the friction of Hannibal’s clothing; Will’s trousers had shifted down to his knees at some point during their struggle, so there is nothing to protect him from the rough textures as they rut against each other.

“ _Hannibal_ ,” Will says between gritted teeth, trying to twist his body away.

The way his name sounds in Will’s mouth sends Hannibal into a fit of heated affection, and Hannibal bites down over Will’s clavicle. It’s not hard enough to bruise, but it’s enough to leave beautiful, red indentations in Will’s flesh as he continues along to his left shoulder, paying special attention to the gnarled scar there. His free hand wanders over the planes of Will’s chest and stomach, down further, caressing the softened flesh between his legs which draws a another, sensitized hiss from Will’s lips.

Underneath him, Will still struggles against Hannibal’s grip. He wraps his legs around Hannibal’s waist and drags his nails across the fabric of the vest, straining against him until he’s finally able to unbalance Hannibal enough to get his hands free. As Will forces them to roll, he works his own pants and boxers down the rest of the way and kicks them aside, and then he’s straddling Hannibal, looking down at him with a triumphant grin.

From his pocket Will produces the tie they had used downstairs, and swiftly winds it back around Hannibal’s wrists. A frown casts over Will’s features when he looks around the bed, apparently looking for something and not finding it. Following his gaze, Hannibal sees that he’s frowning at the headboard.

“Your bed is woefully ill-equipped for this sort of thing,” Will laments. “Frankly, I’m shocked.”

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth quirks up and he wiggles underneath him, shimmying them both upwards toward the headboard. He raises his arms to knock aside the pillows to reveal, between the headboard and mattress, a row of plate staples similar to the ones they had made use of in the private room at the sex club. Both of Will’s eyebrows go up, mouth curling with something between mirth and arousal.

“Should have known I’d spoken too soon.”

“I prefer to be prepared for any eventuality,” Hannibal’s eyes are practically sparkling with satisfaction.

Will opens his mouth, then closes it, giving Hannibal a suspicious glare. “Did you just install these since last week?”

Hannibal gives an approximation of a shrug, since his arms still stretched toward the headboard. “It is possible that I was influenced by our excursion. I thought that adding some function to my bed could prove useful.”

“So, Alana doesn’t know about this, either?” Will guesses, a mixture of disbelief and gratification on his face.

“No.”

Since Hannibal’s wrists are helpfully so close to the staples, it doesn’t take much for Will to adjust the tie to loop it through and secure Hannibal to the headboard. Hannibal gives the binding a few tugs and sighs dramatically, petulance more than irritation in his tone and expression.

“Are you ever going to let me touch you, Will?”

Grinning wide, Will kisses him, just a grazing of lips, then harder, deeper, until they both have to gasp for air. Hannibal arches up against Will’s hands as they pluck at the buttons of his vest, then his shirt, pushing it aside.

“Mmm, later,” Will says between kisses, stroking through Hannibal’s chest hair and tugging at the strands caught between his fingers. Working his other hand down to unbutton Hannibal’s trousers, Will sucks and nibbles at the join of Hannibal’s neck and shoulder, and he asks: “What else do you want?”

“Anything you want to give,” Hannibal grunts out, voice thick with desire, squirming underneath him in an attempt to increase the friction.

Will takes a deep, shaky breath, resting his forehead against Hannibal’s collarbone for a moment, collecting himself before he pulls back to look at him, blue eyes searching, perhaps to see if there is some deeper manipulation in Hannibal’s words to discover.

“What if I want to tear out your heart,” Will says with a waver of uncertainty, his left hand coming to rest against the base of Hannibal’s throat with just enough pressure to be uncomfortable, to shift with the movement when Hannibal swallows. Will’s expression is dark, almost dangerous, and Hannibal wonders where his sense of self-preservation has gone when he feels an overwhelming desire to do something that might spur Will to action, perhaps to find some combination of words that could truly unleash the monster within.

“I believe you already have,” Hannibal is all manages to gasp, and Will bends down to swallow the words with fervour, the hand that had been working on Hannibal’s trousers sliding under the waistband of his briefs and wrapping around his cock while the other stays against his throat.

The grip on Hannibal’s cock is electric and unyielding, and he feels the sting of Will’s teeth on his chest, over the bruises still raw and purple from the crop he had used on Hannibal only days before. There is a delicious sort of ache that spreads across his skin with each nip, and Hannibal groans, enthralled at the way Will angles his head to get at as many of the bruises as possible to mark him anew, tugging at the skin unrelentingly, between his teeth.

Every attempt to thrust into Will’s hand is thwarted by the weight of his body on Hannibal’s, pressing his body down to limit the range of motion; the rhythm and grip along Hannibal’s cock is completely Will’s to control, or to withhold if he so chooses. Luckily, it seems that Will intends to be merciful, this time, and he begins stroking slowly, gliding from base to tip in each movement, increasing the pressure just a little toward the end. His thumb slicks precome over the head on every upstroke, spreading it around to ease the friction of skin on skin.

Hannibal begins to feel dizzy again, the edge of his vision a little cloudy when Will’s left hand contracts, perhaps involuntarily, around his throat. He gasps Will’s name and finds himself pleading, though he’s not entirely sure what for: release, or more, or less, for this to be real and lasting and he really can’t think clearly, because he’s reasonably certain that he asks Will to bring him along next time he kills someone so they can share that too, bathed in blood.

Will seems to react to that, fervently kissing a path back up so he can lick into Hannibal’s mouth, deepening the kiss with enough force that Hannibal thinks he tastes blood, which makes everything go fuzzy and distant and suddenly he’s over the edge, surging hot and wet into Will’s hand.

Every inch of Hannibal’s body goes slack and he feels drained. He can’t even bring himself to care about the sticky, messy feeling trickling down between his legs and soaking into his underwear; he’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe. There is no respite, however, and Will bites down on Hannibal’s lower lip, then suckles at it to soothe the sting, easing his grip against Hannibal’s throat. His other hand is still rubbing Hannibal’s cock through the aftershocks, eliciting an uncontrollable shudder.

Oversensitized, Hannibal finds it difficult to catch his breath, unable to maneuver away from Will’s relentless fondling, but he refuses to utter the word that could make it all end. He had said he wants anything Will is willing to give him, and he meant it, he still does. He doesn’t want to risk missing any gesture, however agonizing, and he adamantly meets Will’s eyes.

Finally, when Hannibal is shaking and groaning and trying to squeeze his thighs together involuntarily to ease the merciless stroking, Will eases himself off to lay beside Hannibal, caressing his lips along the side of Hannibal’s face as he reaches up to unknot the tie. At this point, Hannibal doesn’t have the capacity to move his arms much, so they just drop where they are and it’s Will who carefully guides them down to fold over Hannibal’s chest, nudging him over to fit in behind him. There’s a tickle of Will’s breath on the back of Hannibal’s neck, and he can feel the tip of Will’s nose poking into his hair as though scenting him, draping an arm over Hannibal’s waist. It’s a giddy thought, that Will might be trying to memorize the smell of him, tapping into a part of Hannibal to experience the world as he does.

Distantly, Hannibal thinks he should try and get up, at least to wipe himself and Will down, and maybe change into sleep clothes, but he’s unable to muster the will to do so.

“Comfortable?” Will asks with a chuckle, as though he knows what Hannibal is thinking. Perhaps he does.

Hannibal grunts unhappily in response, and yet still finds himself protesting when he feels the sudden lack of Will against his back. He protests again when Will manhandles him to remove his clothing completely, and shoots him what he hopes is an appropriately disapproving glare when Will uses the shirt to wipe them both down.

Of course, Will merely smirks back at him, pulling the rest of his own clothing off and bunching all of it together to toss on the bench at the foot of the bed. Hannibal does stir at that, trying to push himself up but Will puts a stop to it with a firm hand on his chest, returning to his place on the bed behind Hannibal, wrapping his arms around him to bring him closer.

They lay that way for a while, until their heartbeats even out to a steadier rhythm and Hannibal twists in Will’s arms to lay on his back, turning his head to look at him.

“Hey,” Will says, inscrutable.

“Will,” Hannibal rasps, the corners of his mouth turning down at the sound of his own voice.

“You really would take anything I’d give you, wouldn't you,” Will asks, brow furrowing with some concern.

“Yes.”

Hannibal stares at him, heavy-lidded, dragging a hand up to rest against Will’s chest, intending to ease the concern away, brushing his fingertips along the base of Will’s throat.

“You’d never use the safe word.”

“It’s not likely, no.”

Will shakes his head, shuffling forward to rest his cheek on Hannibal’s shoulder. “This isn't sustainable, Hannibal. I could… This is…” he sighs, frustrated. “How could you possibly want this?”

“You’re beautiful, Will,” Hannibal can’t stop the words from coming out, rasped as they are, and he stills his fingers, resting them against the dip in Will’s clavicle. He’s sure that he sees a flash of guilt in Will’s eyes, even more so when Will lowers his gaze to Hannibal’s chin. “I believe I have been forthcoming about my enthusiasm regarding your transformation. You’re stunning.”

A flush spreads across Will’s face, and he constricts his arms to pull Hannibal closer against himself. “You don’t like to make things easy, do you?”

“What’s the fun in that?”

“I still haven’t ruled out the idea of gagging you,” Will retorts, exasperated. He tugs up the comforter, dishevelled from their vigorous rutting, and settles it over them both. If his spending the night had been in question, Hannibal figures he has his answer, and he inclines his head to rest his temple against Will’s forehead.

“Good,” Hannibal says, and he closes his eyes to plan out what he’s going to make them for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos!!! I really didn't know how much it would really motivate me to keep going, but it really really did! I had a big stupid grin on my face all the damn time, it made me so happy! I never thought I'd manage to finish a multi-chapter fic, but here we are, and I'm ridiculously pleased. :D
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as [chronicopheliac](http://chronicopheliac.tumblr.com/)!


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